Just how loyal was Lucy to her family? What would she do to save them? She would be home soon enough, and he needed time to plan the next move.
He quietly broke into Dillon Kincaid’s house.
Trask walked through the small bungalow. He admired the doctor’s taste. Not quite minimalist, simply sparse, classic, and dark. Dark furniture against hardwood floors; luxurious rugs in the living room and dining room. The kitchen was well-appointed, with gourmet cooking utensils and state-of-the-art appliances. The master bedroom continued the dark theme, navy blue bedding and window treatments. The second bedroom had been converted into a home office.
Though the house was not even fourteen hundred square feet, it was well laid out. Particularly for his purposes. Set far back from the street with a long, narrow front yard and a long, narrow backyard. The garage was in the rear, detached.
Perfect.
Trask sat down at Dr. Kincaid’s computer and logged onto his private server. The feds hadn’t found it; even if they had, they wouldn’t be able to track him here before he was ready to reveal his location. He took out his equipment, set it up in Kincaid’s bedroom.
He couldn’t have planned this better had he tried.
All he had to do was wait, and with the doctor gone he could stay here indefinitely as long as he was careful. One of the many Kincaid clan members could be checking on the house, though so far he hadn’t seen anyone drive by. He wouldn’t use the lights. There was food in the refrigerator and pantry. Enough to sustain him for some time.
He had three options. Wait until Lucy was free of her military bodyguard. Wait until Dillon Kincaid came home and use him as bait. Or find a way to kidnap Lucy from the hospital. Out of her house she was far more vulnerable. Trask wouldn’t take his chances head-to-head with Jack Kincaid, but a well-placed bullet in the back of the head could stop any man.
Lucy walked into Patrick’s room alone—Jack was waiting right outside the door.
She closed the door, feeling for the first time like she could breathe. She loved her family, appreciated everything they were doing for her, but the last two days had been suffocating. All these people who loved her and they were trying not to walk on eggshells around her because they wanted life to return to normal as much as she did. But they’d seen what had happened to her. They couldn’t pretend they didn’t know. Nothing had been left to their imagination. They had feared the worst and seen it happen. She couldn’t look at them without the guilt crashing down around her.
All she wanted was to be alone. But at the same time, she never wanted to be alone again.
Her heart beat with the rhythm of fear, which saturated her blood and made her doubt that she’d ever be able to reclaim her life.
She stared at Patrick in the hospital bed, her pulse racing. His long lanky body seemed to have shrunk. He had on an oxygen mask and an IV gave him nourishment. He was in a coma, because of her.
Not being dead hadn’t really sunk in. Death had come too close, and she was still trying to wrap her mind around her mortality. She couldn’t think about being raped, maybe later. Maybe much, much later.
Dillon had risked his life to save her. Jack, a brother she barely knew, had come home just for her. Patrick was in a coma because of her.
She’d been so stupid. No, stupid didn’t cut it. She’d been irresponsible. She deserved everything that had happened to her. She had listened over and over to the warnings from her family about strangers and the Internet, but never in a million years had she thought anything would happen to her.
You didn’t deserve anything that happened, Lucy.
It was Dillon’s soothing, commanding voice in her head.
None of this is your fault.
She didn’t know if she believed the phantom Dillon, but somehow it made her strong enough to cross the room and sit next to Patrick’s still body.
His head was bandaged, and for some reason that bothered her more than anything. It made everything more real. That he’d had brain surgery because of the explosion that nearly killed him. That he was in a coma and might not survive.
She ached for Patrick, and for herself. For what she had done to her family.
What Adam Scott had done.
Intellectually, she knew she had to stop blaming herself. Emotionally, she couldn’t. Not yet.
Lucy took Patrick’s hand. Suddenly, the urge to talk, to tell Patrick everything, hit her. He couldn’t look at her with pity, he wouldn’t tell her everything would be all right. He wouldn’t offer her food or suggest that she get some sleep.
“Patrick,” she whispered, “it was so awful. At first I didn’t want to die, I wanted to fight and hurt them back. Then, later, all I wanted to do was die. And I hate that. I hate that I was giving up when you and Dillon were working so hard to find me. You had more faith in me than I had in myself. I’ll never disappoint you again.”
THIRTY-THREE
JACK WAS STANDING outside Patrick’s hospital room when Dillon arrived at noon.
“How are they?”
“Lucy’s been in there for nearly four hours,” Jack said, nodding to Kate, who stood next to him. “You were right, Dil. She’s calmer since she’s been here.”
Dillon nodded, relieved that he’d been right. So much of psychology was second-guessing human nature, trying to understand people better than they understood themselves. Anticipating what they needed before they realized they lacked anything.
“Quinn got us an office so he could talk to her in private. We have it for two hours. I thought questioning her in a normal environment, instead of taking her to FBI headquarters or a sterile room, would help. Why don’t you take a break?” Dillon suggested to his brother.
“I’ll check in with my troop,” Jack said. “Don’t leave the hospital. If you’re right and Adam Scott is in San Diego, he could be watching this building.”
Dillon watched Lucy through the observation window as she spoke to Patrick. Dark circles framed her large brown eyes, her skin pale, her hair pulled harshly back from her unadorned face. But she was holding up.
He stared at Patrick, his head bandaged, immobile in the hospital bed. It was the first time he’d seen him since the explosion, and Dillon’s eyes burned.
Kate took his hand and squeezed it. “You okay?”
He nodded and tapped on the window. Lucy glanced over her shoulder, a brief look of terror crossing her face. It disappeared quickly, but Dillon couldn’t help but fear that she’d be living with that panic for the rest of her life.
He motioned to her. It was obvious she didn’t want to leave Patrick. Lucy kissed Patrick’s hand and whispered something in his ear, then met Dillon outside the door.
“What?” she asked.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
“Can I go back and see Patrick?” she asked.
“Of course.”
She relaxed a fraction, glanced at Kate as they started down the corridor.
“Lucy, this is Kate Donovan,” Dillon said. “She was instrumental in helping us find you.”
Recognition lit Lucy’s eyes. “Carina told me you were with Dillon on the island.”
Kate nodded.
“Thank you.” Lucy’s voice was a whisper, and she dipped her head.
Dillon opened the door of an office at the end of the hall. Lucy stared and said, “You’re the FBI.”
Quinn nodded. “Quinn Peterson.”
Lucy frowned, looked at Dillon. “What’s happening?”
“Quinn wants to ask you some questions.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Lucy, I know this is hard for you. And we’re not going to talk about what they did to you.”
“You know it all anyway,” Lucy said, her voice quivering. “Everybody knows.”
Dillon wanted to address that fear of Lucy’s, but not now. “What we need to know is how Trevor Conrad found you online, what some of his messages meant, and if you heard or saw anything that might help the FBI find him.”
She shook her head again. “I don’t know anything.” She bit her lip.
“You might not think you do,” Dillon said, “but something you know might fit with something we know.”
She didn’t say anything.
Kate took Lucy’s hand. “Lucy, he’s out there and he’s angry. You beat him. He didn’t kill you. You’ve won and he’s lost. That doesn’t make him happy. If we can’t stop him, you’ll never be able to reclaim your life. Do you want to be scared forever?”
Lucy bit harder on her lip. Her hand went up to her neck, where the bandage was hidden under a high collar. She glanced at Dillon, then at Kate.
“Okay,” she said, her voice a squeak.
Kate looked at Dillon, and as much for his benefit as Lucy’s, she said, “I told you that Lucy was the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”
Two hours later, while Dillon walked Lucy back to Patrick’s hospital room, Kate frowned at Quinn. “Well, that didn’t get us anywhere.”
“We had to do it,” Quinn said. “And we were able to establish a better time frame. Analyzing the messages from Trevor Conrad will greatly help e-crimes develop better programs to spot online predators.”
Kate sighed. “Not that it will do any good. Neither the FBI nor local law enforcement has the resources to police the Internet.”
“Maybe not, but it will give people the tools to police it themselves.”
“What I don’t understand is, how did a smart girl like Lucy get sucked into his trap?”
“And she’ll never be able to forgive herself for it,” Quinn said.
“It just proves that it doesn’t matter how smart or careful you are; if a predator wants you he’ll find a way.”
“You sound defeatist,” Quinn said. He raised an eyebrow. “What would you suggest? Hiding out in the mountains of Mexico?”
“Touché.” Kate played with her fingers. “I never thanked you for standing by me for the last five years. I’ll never forget it.”
“I had a sense of what drove you.” Quinn paused and Kate looked up at him. “You did the wrong thing for the right reasons. It’s going to be okay next week.”
“I hope so. For the first time I’m looking at the future. I’m hoping I won’t be looking at it from behind bars.”
Dillon met up with Kate in the parking lot. “Where’s Quinn?”
“He had to take a call.” Kate motioned over toward the edge of the parking garage, where Quinn sat on the cement railing for better reception.
“Jack’s going to take Lucy home. Why don’t you come with us?”
Kate tensed. As much as she wanted to be with Dillon, she didn’t know if she was ready to face the Kincaids. She’d met most of them over the last few days, but together? They were a force.
“Quinn and I have the airline records from every flight leaving Sea-Tac from the time the Hummer was seen entering long-term parking until this morning. We have surveillance footage from the security checkpoints and we’re going to try to figure out where Scott went. If he’s not in San Diego, we need to alert authorities wherever he may have landed.”
“I’ll go with you. Six eyes are better than four.”
She shook her head. “Go with your family.”
Dillon took a step closer. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes spoke volumes.
“Lucy needs you,” she insisted.
“You’re making excuses. Why don’t you want to meet my family?”
“Now is not the right time. They have too many stresses on them.”
“Why is meeting you a stress?”
“Your mom doesn’t need to entertain company.”
“Why do I think you’re pushing me away?”
“I’m not.”
“Yes you are, Kate.”
“Am not!” Oh, God, she sounded like a child.
“Kate.” He pushed her chin up, forced her to look at him. “Don’t do this. I want to bring you home.”
“Dillon, the Kincaids are…” She couldn’t think of the right word. “Overwhelming. There’s so many of you.”
“We’re not going to all jump on you at once.”
“I feel like an outsider. And I’m going to remind them of what happened to Lucy.”
“Stop right there. Give my family credit. They’ll like you for you.”
“I don’t know how families act. My grandparents died before I even hit puberty, then foster care and all that crap. I just don’t know if I’m ready.”
“Kate.” Dillon forced her to look at him. He kissed her.
She swallowed. “Why now? Can’t we just hold off for a day or two?”
“You’re shaking.”
“Am not.”
“Kate, I love my family, and so will you.” He backed her into the car and said, “You fit right in. We have a couple cops, a PI, Connor’s dating a prosecutor. Jack’s in the military. But we don’t have an FBI agent.” He leaned over and kissed her. She sucked in her breath, not expecting the onslaught of emotions that hit her from his short speech.
“My family will love you as much as I do,” he whispered in her ear. “Please let me take you home.”
She wrapped her arms around him, held him tight. “I don’t deserve you,” she said.
“Right back at you, Kate.”
She laughed. It felt good to laugh; it had been way too long. “Let me work the case, okay? It makes me feel useful.”
“Then I’ll join you.”
“Why don’t I meet you there later?”
“For dinner?”
“No, I don’t want to put your mother out.”
“I’ll cook.”
“You cook?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Absolutely. My mother taught me. Said the quickest way to a woman’s heart was cooking.”
Kate laughed again. “Okay, you have a date. I’ll be there in a few hours.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to join you?”
“Yes.” She paused. “You, um, don’t live with your parents, do you?”
Dillon smiled seductively. “Nervous about sleeping together under my parents’ roof?”
Her eyes widened. She couldn’t imagine a man of Dillon’s confidence and prestige living at home.
He laughed, kissed her. “I have my own house, Kate. But the expression on your face was priceless.”
Dillon rode with Jack and Lucy back to the Kincaid house.
“Did anything I say help?” Lucy asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Lucy, sometimes it’s the smallest details that help in catching a criminal. I’m very proud of you.”
“Is Patrick going to get better?”
“The doctor’s are hopeful,” Dillon said cautiously.
“You’re lying to me again.”
“I’m not lying to you, Lucy. Patrick is healthy. The surgery was hugely successful. They believe he will recover. But the human brain is still a mystery. It might take some time.”
“Or he might never come out of the coma,” she said defiantly.
“He might not. But I don’t believe that. And you shouldn’t, either.”
After Dillon checked in with his parents, made sure Lucy was okay, and informed everyone that he was making dinner for a special guest that evening, he walked the four blocks to his house.
He could hardly wait for Kate to come home with him that night. He understood her hesitation—the Kincaid’s were a bit overwhelming to outsiders. But Lucy was home and safe. Jack had returned, even if it was only temporary. And while Patrick was still in a coma, the doctors assured Dillon that everything looked promising for him to make a full recovery.
Dillon wanted to introduce Kate, the woman he loved, to his parents. It surprised him how quickly it had happened, but he was nearly thirty-nine years old. He hadn’t been in love since med school when he dated the same woman for three years. That time, it had taken him months to rea
lize that he was in love. Now, he knew it without reservation. Dillon loved Kate Donovan. She was just going to have to get used to it.
He turned the corner and saw his small, comfortable bungalow. Kate would fit in here, with his family, but she also might want her old life back. Maybe move back to Virginia and reclaim her job. He would support her in whatever she decided, but more important, he would be there with her.
He walked up the porch stairs, unlocked his door. It didn’t budge. “Damn,” he muttered. He always bolted the front door when he was home, primarily using the kitchen door as his entrance and exit since it was closer to the garage. When he left on Thursday, he must have gone out the back door.
He strolled down his driveway. The small rose garden he cultivated along the drive needed pruning. He might need to hire a gardener to tend to the landscaping, especially since he planned on spending a lot of time on the opposite coast. Frankly, he’d been too worried about Lucy to remember anything that day. He took the steps two at a time to his kitchen door. Unlocked it, entered, bolted it.
A smell hit him. Food. Had he left garbage in the house? He wouldn’t be surprised; he had left in a hurry and it had been four days.
He crossed the kitchen and opened the cabinet door beneath the sink and pulled out the small, lined trashcan he used. He was about to pull out the garbage bag to take it outside when he saw an empty can of chili on top.
He hadn’t eaten chili in ages. Someone had been in his house.
Quietly, he put the trash back under the sink. Every nerve was on alert and he listened to the sounds of his house. The silence. A creak.
The sound of someone breathing behind him.
Dillon slowly turned around. He didn’t see anyone.
Then Adam Scott stepped into the kitchen from the dining room.
He had a gun.
“Adam.”
“Trask to you.”
Dillon couldn’t get out the door; he’d bolted it when he entered. Out of habit. For security.
But that didn’t help when the killer was already inside.
“What do you want?” Dillon asked. He gave his kitchen a quick once-over. Nothing was out of place.
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